A Little Civility Before Work
by GrissomsOverture
Summary: When some questions aren't as easy to answer, we all need it. G/S; Grissom POV. Please R&R.


TITLE: A Little Civility Before Work  
  
Author: GrissomsOverture  
  
Description: Sometimes we all need it. Just a short fic; G/S, Gris POV, PG.  
  
R&R: PLEASE!!!  
  
Spoilers: I reference several eps all the way through. This takes place post-ItB. There's a reference to a crime, which is totally fictional. If I happen to spoil anything for you, feel free to flog me. :- )  
  
DISCLAIMERS: If I owned Grissom, I promise you I'd be the happiest woman in the world. Unfortunately, I don't. I also don't own "CSI" or anything else that belongs to the brilliant world of Jerry Bruckheimer.  
  
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Grissom felt as if his chest were filled with lead; he felt like a cliché, the whole world on his shoulders. He lay in bed, the alarm clock relentlessly reminding him that it was time to wake up, to face another day. All over the city, beneath the promising lights and sounds of luck, money, and happiness, Gil Grissom's life calling waited for him; terror, victims, the promise of justice. Science, questions easily answered. Another day in a life spent answering questions.  
  
He shut his eyes and placed his fists over them, trying to shut out the dull ache of another migraine that threatened. He'd been having many recently, ever since he came back to work from his surgery, ever since he began working on this last case, his first case since coming back to work a new man with a repaired stapes bone.  
  
Sometimes the questions weren't as easy to answer as he pretended they were.  
  
Grissom shut off the alarm, got into the shower, performed the morning rituals he had done for decades. Going through the motions. Things that could be done with minimal thought and little concentration. His hands worked automatically. Shave, brush teeth, dress..  
  
As a final addition to the ritual, he opened a small black box and pulled out the newest part of his life; a plastic hearing aid. The surgery had worked well, but it was not a complete cure-all. His right ear still had something to be desired. The aid was maybe temporary, maybe permanent. Gil didn't really care; he had come to terms with the thing in his ear, the new intrusion to his life. He was getting older, and these things happened, regardless. As long as it worked, let him continue to answer questions..... that was all that mattered. Wasn't it?  
  
Grissom went to his small kitchen, opened the fridge, put the bread, butter and jam on the counter. He removed the twist-tie from the bread, turned to his toaster---and froze, seeing the crime scene in his mind.. He now realized that his toaster was exactly like the toaster in the kitchen he and Sara had processed just three weeks ago. The memory blind sided him. It was his first case, post-surgery; his first case with Sara in ages, and perhaps one of the hardest he'd ever had to deal with. The bloody, bruised body of the eight-year-old little girl.. Cases with children always affected him more than they should, but this had to have been one of the very worst. The sheer brutality of the murder.. it had affected them all. He could still see the tears forming in Sara's eyes as they searched the small, broken body for evidence. She tried to hide her tears from Grissom, but he saw them. They cut to his heart, making the day even harder. He wanted to stop time, just for a moment, push away the scene; to hold Sara, comfort her, comfort himself.  
  
He loved his job. He loved solving the puzzles, putting the killers away, bringing a close to the circles of crime and punishment. It was his whole life. But there were times when the world was simply too much. There were cases, scenes, victims, that made his whole world start to cave in. Pools of blood and scents of death that cut through the exterior and shields he'd built around his heart, reminding him that his emotions were still there, no matter how buried he pretended them to be.  
  
The evidence had led them to the girls' father, a respected business man and single-father. He'd been arrested last night, and Grissom could still feel the satisfaction of hearing the cuffs snap briskly into place, metal on metal. He hoped they cut into the man's wrist. He hoped the man felt as much pain as possible. But the bastard had held his head high, his eyes cool and uncaring. Tonight, they would reopen the case of the man's wife, an apparent suicide five years ago that now seemed to need new attention. New justice. "God, I hope you find him all over that case. I want to throw everything at him," Brass had muttered to Grissom as the man was escorted away by two officers. Grissom could barely nod, his jaw clenched shut, his heart pounding. He'd find it.  
  
Now, standing in the kitchen, seeing himself reflected in the metal toaster, he could see the bloodied Barbie nightgown, the tufts of blonde hair matted with blood.. Another innocent life, taken way too soon. His appetite had disappeared long ago. Desperate to get out of the house, he grabbed his keys and jacket and hurried to his Tahoe.  
  
He drove without a destination. Almost three hours until he had to be at work. He had set the alarm so he could go in that early, but he couldn't face the lab just yet.  
  
So many times he had been accused of being emotionless. 'I'm not like you. I'm not a robot.' 'I wish I was like you, Grissom. I wish I didn't feel anything.' If only it were true. If only he didn't feel. If only he knew what he felt....  
  
Life had gotten so complicated. Every since Holly Gribbs had died, he had felt his universe slowly tilt off balance. He had become a different man, almost; he had felt himself curling inward, more and more. What would have happened if the butterfly in Brazil had not flapped it's wings, if Holly hadn't died, if he hadn't called Sara? If his mother had had different genetics? If.. he wasn't a man to question the what-ifs. But maybe he'd let himself change too much.  
  
He had told Catherine to let the team know about his surgery, and they'd all come to visit him in the hospital when he was ready. He would never forget Sara's face when she stepped into the room behind Nick and Greg. A thousand different emotions--concern, anger, indifference... trying to hide them all. Her eyes asked questions she knew he wouldn't answer. But, she had come to see him, with the team, and that meant everything.  
  
They hadn't spoken of any of it through the case with the little girl, just worked together in earnest to find her killer.  
  
About five days ago, they'd been behind the glass in the interrogation room watching Warrick and Brass begin to interrogate the father, waiting for their cue. The man's chilling indifference and pure evil had made Sara so angry she'd begun to shake slightly, her eyes blazing. Caught up in the moment, Grissom had reached over, without thinking, and gently placed his arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm in reassurance. Sara hadn't questioned the gesture, just taken it for what it was worth, let it give her the strength to carry on.  
  
As Grissom drove now, watching the throngs lined up on the Strip, he knew that he had simply been returning a favor in the interrogation room; Sara had provided him with the strength he needed, day by day, as they worked together. Her vision, clarity, intelligence and intuition had been invaluable. In work, in life... she helped him so much. He wondered how much longer he could put off admitting that he needed her.  
  
He kept driving, turning the radio up louder and louder, willing it to drown away his thoughts. He found himself nearing the neighborhood of Lady Heather's house. He remembered her ruefully. Yet another mistake--or, maybe, not a mistake, but another time when his life had gone completely off-tilt. He should have known better than to get so close to her. And then, he had messed it all up so quickly..  
  
There were times when Grissom missed Lady Heather and what she had offered him. 'A little civility before work'. He needed that now. After that case, after this surgery, at this time in his life when everything seemed to have gone awry and out of his plane of order. Maybe he was defective, because he couldn't deal with it. He wanted his life back to normal, wanted the order again.  
  
But nothing stayed the same. He knew that. He was a scientist. Things...... evolved. Maybe it was time to start rolling with the punches.  
  
Grissom reached for his cell phone and pressed number eight speed-dial. He knew she'd be awake, as well. He felt her, instinctively, so like him. Ready to go into work early, but unable to face the day. She answered.  
  
"Sidle."  
  
"Hey, Sara.it's Grissom. How are you?"  
  
She sounded mildly surprised, but too tired to care, that much. "I'm...I'm OK. I should go in soon, start looking though the wife's case, but.."  
  
"I know." A silence, a shared understanding. He cleared his throat a little. "It's OK. We've got time. Sara.do you want to meet me somewhere? For coffee or something?"  
  
She was quiet for a beat, then she spoke, and he could hear her smile, the relief. She needed this, too. "Yeah. Sure. Absolutely." They agreed on a coffee shop that offered them something better than the break-room imitation of motor oil. Pushing the 'end' button, Grissom turned into a nearby driveway, and changed directions.  
  
The weight on his shoulders seemed a little easier to bear. He was not alone in bearing his burdens. He couldn't wait to see her, to brush his hand on her soft skin, smell her hair, see her eyes before facing the night and the lab again. Sara, Grissom knew, was his sanity. His personal civility before the brutalities of work, during work, after work. Sara was everything.  
  
She was waiting in front of the coffee shop. Spotting him, she gave a small wave and stepped forward to meet him. He pulled his Tahoe into a space next to her own, caught her eyes, and they shared broad smiles under the setting Vegas sun. 


End file.
